Vulpecula I-IV
by jeri
Summary: The first set of post-Requiem stories in a series of 14. MSR and Babyfic


TITLE: Vulpecula I-IV  
AUTHOR: jeri  
E-MAIL: agentjeri@thexfiles.com OR ggal1116@yahoo.com  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/jeris_basement/index/html  
RATING: PG  
CATEGORY: SRA, S-POV  
KEYWORDS: MSR, Scully(&Family)Angst, Babyfic  
SPOILERS: Requiem  
ARCHIVE: Sure, just drop me a line!  
STARTED: May 21, 2000  
FINISHED: June 10, 2000  
CONTAINS: Tenancy Tendencies; Brotherly Love; Conduit to My   
Heart; and May 22.  
  
**DISCLAIMER: The names you recognize belong to CC and his   
crew. Veronica Durant and Alexis are mine, so please don't   
use them without consulting me first. Enjoy!  
  
^*^*^  
I - Tenancy Tendencies  
[[Scully ponders her past and future through her   
living arrangements]]  
  
July 9, 2000  
9:11 p.m.  
  
I got the call yesterday. I have one week to   
decide. One week to determine how my life will   
go on. *If* my life will go on.  
  
I really didn't think I'd have to think about this.   
I took it for granted that it would always be there.   
As long as it exists, there's hope.  
  
But now I may have my one bit of hope ripped from   
me. Evan Walsh, the source of my despair, has   
informed me that he's stopped receiving checks,   
and in a week, he's going to start accepting them   
from someone else.  
  
Oh yeah. Evan Walsh is Mulder's landlord.  
  
So, I stand in Mulder's apartment now, looking over   
the organized clutter that defined -- defines --   
his life, trying desperately to figure out what   
fuck I'm supposed to do.  
  
Well, first I should breathe. This isn't Mr. Walsh's   
fault. It isn't Skinner's fault, and it isn't even   
our fault, for a change. We both expected him to   
come home, especially since I sent a babysitter   
for him. And even when I heard the news, this wasn't   
the first problem that popped into my head. No, I   
was a *bit* preoccupied.  
  
The Bureau can be a bureaucratic pain in the ass   
when it comes to benefits sometimes, but other   
times it makes more sense than anyone could possibly   
imagine. There's a program designed especially for   
single, mobile, apartment-renting agents like Mulder   
and me. It allows for monthly rent to be taken   
directly out of our paychecks, and automatically   
deposited to our landlords by the due date. This   
way, we don't have to worry about being caught out   
of town and away from our bank when the next   
payment is up.  
  
Well, we get our paychecks every two weeks, and   
so even though Mulder had been gone for eight days,   
he still had a paycheck two weeks ago. But now,   
since he's officially AWOL, and not working, he   
doesn't get paid. The Bureau notified Mr. Walsh   
of this development, and he immediately called me,   
since I'm listed as next of kin.  
  
Apparently, the lease runs out this month.  
  
However, if I can get the next payment and security   
deposit in to him within a week, he'll extend the   
lease for another year.  
  
And therein lies the problem. If I send the money,   
I'm locked in for a whole year, and I don't know   
if I can afford that.  
  
If everything goes the way has in the past, that   
won't matter. Mulder will be back soon, and he   
can pay his own damn rent. But I can't be sure   
that this is going to turn out like before. They   
may perform horrible tests on him, and he may,   
like his sister, seek death as his only escape.  
  
No. That's not going to happen. He knows I'd kill   
him if he died.  
  
But back to my present predicament. I could handle   
two rents for a month or two, I know that. After   
Antarctica, Mulder and I set up a joint account   
with an online bank. There's about two thousand   
dollars in it, and that should just about cover   
the deposit and two months' rent. But after   
that...there's no way I can do it. And I don't   
have access to his personal bank account, either.  
  
So, the way I see it, I have two choices: A) I   
tell Mr. Walsh not to expect the payment and find   
a storage facility that I can afford to hold as   
much of Mulder's stuff as possible, or B) give   
*my* landlord my two month's notice and just move   
in here.  
  
Plan B isn't as outrageous as it seems. I used to   
adore my place. It was the one place that was   
always separate from work, from Mulder. Even after   
Eugene Tooms and Duane Barry invaded this space,   
I managed to claim it back. I exorcised those demons,   
and my apartment was safe again.  
  
But lately, it's become less of a home, and more   
of a place to sleep and pick up mail. I hadn't   
really noticed, though, until Phillip Padgett. I   
mean, the crazy bastard moved next door to Mulder   
so he could stalk *me* better! I realized just how   
much time I'd been spending at Mulder's since the   
summer. Of course, I found nothing wrong with that,   
so I did nothing to change it.  
  
When his mother...passed away earlier this year,   
that was the first night we slept together. As in   
sleeping in the same bed, at the same time. Since   
the start of the New Year, I'd staked out his   
couch several times, and once in a while he'd   
insist on taking the couch himself. By February,   
it was almost getting routine: I'd come over right   
after work on Friday, we'd watch some dopey movie   
(with beer, if it was an "occasion"), and I'd stay   
through the weekend. Then I'd leave mid-Sunday,   
stop for a late afternoon Mass, and see him in   
the office on Monday.  
  
But once we finished the LaPierre case and closed   
the case on Samantha, I left his apartment even   
less. Even now, I still haven't gotten around to   
fixing my bedroom's closet door after Donnie   
Pfaster tore up that apartment.  
  
I did spend about a week straight at my apartment   
after that stupid, Goddamn episode with Spender.   
I know I made a complete ass of myself, I didn't   
need two days of Mulder's silence to tell me that.   
He wasn't mad at me, really; he knew he'd done   
equally stupid things in the past. But he was   
still hurt by it. We both realized we needed some   
space, so I reluctantly went back to Georgetown.   
Then we had that God-awful stakeout, which in   
retrospect was good; by the time he was called   
away to Vermont, we were pretty much back to our   
latest definition of normal. When he got back, I   
repacked my most essential possessions and headed   
back to my home in Alexandria.  
  
My legs are starting to cramp, and I realize I'm   
still standing in the living room. I take a glance   
at my watch, noting with a bit of surprise that   
it's almost eleven. I've been standing here for   
two hours almost. With a sigh, I move into the   
bedroom, rolling my neck around to get the kinks   
out.  
  
The bed looks terribly lonely tonight. Only my   
side is messed up, unlike the usual disorder we   
leave it in. It's so strange, sleeping alone again.   
I've found myself waking up constantly since he   
left, always with a chill along my back. I feel   
tears come to my eyes.   
  
It's not like we'd been making love for a really   
long time or anything. It would have been just over   
three months, but since he's been gone for almost a   
month now...  
  
But we'd agreed that first night, after I poured   
my heart out to him about Daniel, that taking that   
step would be tantamount to creating an Eleventh   
Commandment: Thou shall stay as one forever. It   
was above and beyond the commitment marriage vows   
held; any betrayal would come at the ultimate cost,   
and there could be no chance of forgiveness.  
  
His absence now is not a betrayal. Of that I am   
positive.  
  
I strip off my clothes and sink into bed. I stare   
up at the ceiling, and I remember that I still must   
make a decision.  
  
As much as this is home to me now, I can't help   
but see the equally sensible reasons behind giving   
this up. What if, God forbid, he doesn't come back?   
Or what if he comes back changed? If I were to give   
up my apartment, where would I go if he didn't want   
me...us...here with him? I know, if that were to   
happen, and I just put all this in storage, he'd   
have no problem finding a new home, far away from   
this one. Should that happen, I would be devastated,   
but his rejection would be a betrayal, and I know   
I'd have to let him go.  
  
And if he were never to return, how could I live   
here in this constant reminder of him? Surely I'd   
go mad with heartache and the stress of not knowing.   
Like I won't have enough of a reminder with me.  
  
My eyes are beginning to droop, and I know I won't   
be awake much longer. I want to make this decision   
tonight, so I have plenty of time to get the money.  
  
I roll over on my side, facing away from the window   
like always. The glowing numbers on the clock taunt   
me, changing deliberately slowly, dragging out   
the night.  
  
And then I see it. The way the light catches the   
tiny imperfections in the wood of the nightstand.   
I reach out to trace the pattern with my fingertips,   
fondly remembering the rainy afternoon when he   
insisted on carving our initials into something.   
To break in his newest Swiss Army knife, he claimed.   
I knew for a fact that the knife was at least four   
years old, but I played along, letting him guide   
my hand as we cut into the wood:  
  
#11 - M + S = 4ever  
  
Below that is the worst attempt at a heart that   
ever existed, but we laughed because we knew what   
we meant.  
  
I sigh. I've been letting myself get carried away   
with my tendency for what-iffing. As I run my   
fingers over the message again, I tell myself that   
he is coming home. I will find him. And we'll pick   
up where we left off, but not like nothing has   
happened. No, we can't do that. I smile softly,   
brushing my hand over my abdomen.  
  
Tomorrow, I'll give the Bureau my new address.  
  
^*^*^  
II - Brotherly Love  
[[Scully realizes her brothers know nothing about   
Mulder's abduction or the baby]]  
  
August 30, 2000  
7:41 p.m.  
  
I am pulled from my catnap by the harsh ringing   
of the phone. Groaning, I manage to reach for it   
without rolling to my side. Since I began to show   
three weeks ago, I find myself become overly   
paranoid about putting weight on the small mound   
that is my baby.  
  
"'Lo?" I mumble.  
  
"Oh, Dana, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" my mother   
asks, her voice filled with regret and concern.  
  
I blink. "It's okay, Mom. Just a little nap. I had   
a rough day. What time is it, anyway?"  
  
"It's a quarter to eight. Have you eaten, Dana? Or   
did you fall asleep when you got home?"  
  
"No, I've only been asleep for a half-hour. Yes,   
I had dinner, Mom." I smile despite the irritation   
my voice holds. I know Mom is just being a mother.   
Ever since Mom heard about the baby, she's been   
worried enough for the both of us.  
  
"Well," Mom says, relieved, "that's good. I won't   
be long, but I wanted to make sure you were coming   
over on Monday. Billy and Charles can both make it   
this year, so I really hope you are. They've been   
at sea for months, and they said they hadn't heard   
from you in ages."  
  
My eyes widen. "Oh my God," I whisper. "Mom, I   
haven't talked to them, or anyone in their families,   
since before..." I can't say it. Three months have   
passed, and I still have a hard time accepting that   
he isn't around.  
  
I hear Mom's soft gasp. "Oh dear," she agrees.   
"Well, if you'd rather not come over, Dana, I'll   
understand."  
  
"No, actually, I think I'd like to go. I really   
should tell them about the baby, at least."  
  
"All right. I haven't told them about Fox; I figured   
that's your choice whether they know or not. And   
I'll support you no matter what you tell them, you   
know that, right?"  
  
"I do, Mom. I think I'll wait and see if anyone   
notices," I muse. In my heart, I know it's a small   
hope that no one will notice my decidedly round   
stomach.  
  
^*^  
  
September 4, 2000  
11:21 a.m.  
  
I walk out the back door, carrying a tray of various   
snack foods out to the tables that are set up   
along the back of the garage. I snag a handful of   
pretzels after I put them down, and I go back into   
the kitchen to get a drink.  
  
The doors of Mom's refrigerator/freezer are, as   
usual, covered in drawings created by my niece and   
nephews. I smile, thinking of my own refrigerator   
door in the years to come.  
  
I feel a slight flutter and my smile grows. The   
baby has a remarkable way of knowing when I am   
thinking about it.  
  
Not it: him. At my appointment with Dr. Williams   
last Thursday, I decided to finally find out the   
gender. The decision came after hearing confirmation   
that Mulder is my baby's father. My gut feeling   
had always told me that was true, but seeing it   
on paper eases my worried, scientific mind. And   
now that the baby has a definite last name, I   
want to start thinking about a first and middle   
name. So I gave in to my curiosity and found out   
that I am having our little boy. Fox Mulder's son,   
but not Fox Jr. Definitely not that.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
I turn around to face my mother. "What's up?"  
  
"Billy just called. He and Tara and Matty are   
almost here. And Charles and his crew are on their   
way, too." She looks down, almost afraid to   
continue. "Dana, what are you going to tell them?   
I just want to know, so I don't say too much."  
  
I shrug. "I'll tell them the truth, I guess. I was   
hoping I wouldn't be so noticeably pregnant, but   
since that's been shot to hell..." I say with a   
smirk. I all honesty, I love this stage. It's   
finally feeling real to me. I mean, sure there   
were ultrasounds before, but those I'd seen before.   
It almost felt like I was looking at someone else's   
baby. But now...now there's no way to deny the fact   
that there is a life inside me.  
  
Mom nods. "And when they ask about the father?"  
  
My happy thoughts come plummeting back to reality.   
"Hopefully it won't come up. I'm sure someone will   
figure it out, but maybe they'll know better than   
to bring it up." I shrug again. "I won't lie about   
it. And I'll tell them that Mulder's on a classified   
assignment of undetermined length that started   
before I found out." I can feel tears start to   
build up, just like they always do whenever I   
think about Mulder. Damn hormones. "And I'll tell   
them how I can't reach him, because, you know, it's   
classified. And I'll look Billy right in the eye   
and tell him just how much not knowing scares me   
and breaks my heart."  
  
Now my tears are flowing freely down my cheeks,   
and Mom tucks me into her comforting embrace.  
  
I don't know how long I cry, but luckily I stop   
before the rest of the family arrives.  
  
^*^  
  
11:47 a.m.  
  
"Auntie Dee!!!"  
  
The screech from the hallway causes me to pull my   
head out of the fridge, and I smile brightly when   
I see my littlest nephew running towards me. Since   
he has no way of knowing that plowing into me isn't   
the best idea, I stand up quickly so he crashes   
into my legs. Then I kneel down and let him hug me.  
  
"Hey, Matty. How are you?" I ask him, preparing   
myself for a long string of minute details that   
mean so much to a two-and-a-half year old.  
  
But instead he simply steps away from me and   
announces, "Auntie Dee, you fat!"  
  
"Matthew!" Tara admonishes from the hall, but   
still out of sight. "First of all, that's not nice   
to say, and second of all, Auntie Dee is never   
faaa--"  
  
Her sentence ends abruptly as she enters the   
kitchen and notices my girth.  
  
"Dana," she states matter-of-factly, "you're fat."  
  
"But Mommy..." Matty says, obviously confused.  
  
"Dana Katherine Scully," Tara continues, ignoring   
her child, in a lowered voice, "something very,   
very weird is going on, I can feel it. Why do you   
look like you've gained twenty pounds?"  
  
I snicker and rub Matty's head. "Because I have?"   
I can see a glint begin to form in her eyes, one   
I haven't seen since the Christmas when Matty was   
due. Tara had it, Mom had it, even Billy had it.  
  
She knows. She's been there.  
  
I hold a finger to my lips and motion with my head   
for her to come to my side. She does, and I grab   
her hand and place it over the spot where my son   
is kicking up a storm. Her eyes widen more than I   
thought humanly possible, and the glint reaches a   
new wattage.  
  
"Dana!" she squeals quietly. "Why haven't you   
said anything?"  
  
"Well..." I hedge for a moment, trying to find   
a believable excuse; before I can speak again,   
though, Billy and Mom walk in. Billy has his arms   
open for a hug, but he stops short when he sees   
the position his wife and I are standing in.  
  
"Dana?" he sputters, not exactly sure if he's   
seeing what he thinks he's seeing.  
  
"Auntie Dee's fat, Daddy," Matty says in his most   
solemn voice. "Mommy said so."  
  
Billy looks around the room and takes in the faces   
of his mother, wife, and baby sister. He's no fool.   
Well, not a complete fool.  
  
"You're not serious," he says, but from his tone   
I know he knows we are, so I just nod. "Dana, I   
didn't even know you'd been seeing anyone, much   
less..." He's speechless for perhaps the third   
time in his life (the first being when, Tara   
announced that she was pregnant, the second being   
when I went into remission), and he gestures wildly   
with his hands. "Please tell me you didn't elope,   
that I can still give you away."  
  
I frown deeply at that. I wouldn't say I'm a   
feminist or anything, but the thought of being   
anyone's property, especially my brother's...  
nuh-uh.  
  
"No, Bill, I didn't elope, and if and when I do   
get married, I'm certainly not going to be given   
away like a prize herd of cattle!" Billy's wise   
enough to hold up his hands in surrender.  
  
"Fine, fine. I won't go there. But, seriously,   
when do I get to meet my possible-future-brother-  
in-law?"  
  
I flick my eyes to catch Mom's, but she's no help,   
her expression clearly reading "You're on your own,   
babe!" I sigh and suck in a breath, wishing very   
much to suddenly be at home...in a bubble bath...  
eating grapes...that are being fed to me...by   
Mulder...  
  
No such luck.  
  
"Is he coming here today? Is he already here?"   
Billy starts looking out the window into the   
backyard, searching for someone who won't possibly   
be there.  
  
Damn, I've got to tell him. "Bill..." I start.  
  
And to my extreme relief, there's a commotion at   
the door as Charlie and his family arrive, pausing   
the moment for now.  
  
^*^  
  
12:39 p.m.  
  
"So Dana," whispers Charlie's wife Saundra as we   
stand by ourselves next to the drink table,   
"you've managed to blow us all off, but I must   
say I'm really very interested in the identity   
of your baby's father. Care to share, you know,   
woman to woman? That is, if you know, I mean."  
  
As much as I love my little brother, and as much   
as I adore his sons and daughter, Jason, Timothy,   
and Alexis, I spend much energy trying to tolerate   
his wife. She comes from a posh little village on   
the coast of Virginia; she met Charlie when they   
were in college. She's admitted to finding our   
Navy-regulated nomadic lifestyle "quaint, in a   
pathetic sort of way." Okay, she didn't actually   
say that it was pathetic, but the way she said   
"quaint" just screamed that insinuation. She didn't   
approve of Missy's nomadic ways with men, and she's   
always assumed that since her little sister yearns   
to imitate her, then I must yearn to imitate Missy.  
  
I literally bite my tongue before I let loose   
with a nasty comment that couldn't possibly be   
blamed on hormones. "Actually, San-dra," I say,   
purposely mispronouncing her name (her biggest   
pet peeve), "I'd much rather wait and do it on   
a full stomach. Bill's not going to pleased with   
my answer."  
  
As soon as I see her face light up, I realize I've   
said too much. If she doesn't already know about   
Bill's intolerance of Mulder, she'll find out soon   
enough and break the news herself, all the while   
making me look like a teenaged girl who's afraid   
to tell her daddy that the Rebel's condom broke.  
  
She mumbles something about hitting the bathroom   
and she runs inside the house. I do a quick head   
count in the yard, and I'm relieved to see that   
everyone's present and accounted for. So while   
she's inside, I'll break the news.  
  
I stroll over to the circle of adults and take   
seat Saundra recently vacated, right between Billy   
and Tara. Tara looks over at me and makes a face   
of disgust, then grins. I giggle, because Tara   
can't stand Saundra either. Billy can't find fault   
with her, neither can Mom, and of course Charlie   
adores her, so it's nice to finally have an ally.   
I know Mulder will be on my side as well. He can't   
stand people who think they're better than he is.  
  
"Hey guys," I say to get their attention. Suddenly,   
all eyes are on me. I take a deep breath and I can   
hear Mulder's voice tell me just to spit it out,   
that Billy won't beat him up with Mom there. I take   
strength from his spirit, and the fluttering of my   
son spurs me on. "I know you're wondering about who   
my baby's father is. And I wish he could have been   
here today. But unfortunately, due to circumstances   
beyond our control," the tears are back, but this   
time I do nothing to hide them. "Damnit," I curse   
quietly, looking heavenward, praying that a huge   
alien craft will appear over Mom's house and let   
Mulder out in a beam of light.  
  
"Come on, Dana," Charlie urges, taking my hand   
in his. "Just tell us his name. I'm sure there'll   
be plenty of opportunities for us to meet him."  
  
My tears multiply as the thought that there might   
not be that opportunity traitorously crosses my   
mind.  
  
"Or," Billy says, his tone one of suspicion,   
"have we already met him?"  
  
Okay, Billy's figured it out. "Well, you and Tara   
have, but not Charlie." As soon as the sentence   
leaves my mouth, I cringe in anticipation of the   
explosion.  
  
But, to my complete surprise, Billy just nods. "I   
suspected as much. It's Mulder, isn't it?" It's   
really more of a statement than a question. I   
simply nod. "Well, I guess I can understand why   
he didn't want to be here for this. But I'm coming   
back for Thanksgiving, and he better be there. I   
just want to make sure he knows that he's stuck   
with me, and that I'll beat the shit outta him if   
I find out he does anything to hurt you, Dana."  
  
Mom, Charlie and I are all looking rather shell-  
shocked, but Tara just smiles knowingly; I have   
a feeling she picked up on a vibe the last time   
visited her, right after Arcadia. Mulder was   
reluctant, but I promised him it was just lunch,   
and that if Billy was even around, it wouldn't   
be for long. Turned out he was in meetings, so   
it was a very pleasant occasion. And since Mulder   
was much more relaxed than he had been that   
Christmas, I think Tara got a better idea of our   
relationship, such as it was at the time.  
  
We make eye contact, and I send her a silent thank   
you and praise for getting through my older   
brother's thick skull.  
  
"Hey, Dana, that's great," Charlie declares. "I   
was really hoping he'd be here today, but like I   
said, there'll be other times, right?"  
  
I start crying again, and this time people get   
worried and take notice. I hear Saundra return,   
and I can tell she's annoyed at having her seat   
taken. Mom stands up and offers her seat to Saundra,   
while she kneels in front of me and embraces me.   
Mom's all too aware of the chance that Mulder may   
never return, though she tries to keep an   
optimistic outlook for me.  
  
"Oh man, I think I've hit a nerve," says Charlie,   
and I can tell he's really sorry the subject was   
ever brought up.  
  
I have to say something. "I'm sorry you guys," I   
sniffle. "It's just...Mulder was called away on   
an assignment just before I found out. It's   
classified, so I have no idea where he is, and   
there's no way to get a hold of him."  
  
Sympathetic glances are passed around, and I note   
that even Saundra seems to be genuinely sorry for   
me. But it's Billy who asks, "How long is the   
assignment, or don't you know?"  
  
I shake my head. "There's no way to tell. It's   
undercover, and evidence is very hard to find.   
I just hope..." I trail off, unable to say it.   
My tears are finally slowing, and I don't want   
to start again.  
  
There's a few moments of near-silence, the only   
sounds being the kids playing on the swingset on   
the other side of the yard. Finally, Charlie   
breaks in with, "So, do I finally get a niece for   
Alexis to hang out with, or is there gonna be   
another boy in this family?"  
  
I laugh. While Billy and Tara were happy to be   
finally having a baby at all, Charlie and Saundra   
wanted them to have a girl, since their youngest   
child was the only girl so far. However, William   
Matthew Scully the Third was born.  
  
"I'm so sorry to disappoint you all, but the   
Mulder name is going to live for another generation.   
It's a boy."  
  
Charlie throws back his head and groans. "Man!   
Poor Alexis, she'll be all alone."  
  
Billy frowns at that. "I wouldn't be so sure of   
that, Charlie. Tara's still got some good child-  
bearing years in her, and so does Dana."  
  
Both Tara and I glare at Billy warningly. I never   
told them about my infertility, and now it's a   
moot point, but I'm not putting any money on   
having more children. I'll take precautions, just   
in case, until the baby's not a baby anymore, and   
then I think I'll let nature take its course again.  
  
As for Tara, I know all the trouble they went   
through to have Matty, and I'm sure she's not   
expecting to get pregnant again without medical   
help. And I get the feeling she doesn't want to   
go through the ordeal again, or the high risk of   
miscarriage. I know she had at least two; if I   
were Tara, I'd close up shop now.  
  
There's a squeal from the monkey bars; Charlie's   
fifteen-year-old, Jason, is holding Matty as Matty   
stretches from bar to bar, obviously enjoying   
himself immensely. Jason's nearly six-foot with   
his mother's dark hair, so it's easy for me to do   
a cut-and-paste and see Mulder in a few years with   
our son. A smile breaks through the remnants of my   
tears. Everything's going to be okay, I'm sure of   
that.  
  
And from the thoughtful little smile Billy's   
sending my way, it seems that one day I might be   
able to hold the Scully Family Annual Labor Day   
Picnic in my own backyard, and no one will complain.  
  
^*^*^  
III - Conduit to My Heart  
[[An unexpected call from an 'old flame' brings   
Scully hope of Mulder's return]]  
  
September 12, 2000  
11:14 a.m.  
  
The look on my partner's face is so priceless, I   
don't think I could ever forget it.  
  
"You're having a meeting with whom?" she says,   
shock evident in her voice.  
  
"Jose Chung," I reply calmly. "The author."  
  
Veronica Durant shakes her head. "I know who he   
is, Dana. _The Caligarian Candidate_ is one of my   
favorite books. You know him?"  
  
"Um, yeah," I answer, unsure if she'll make the   
connection. "I helped him out with a book, oh,   
nearly four years ago I guess."  
  
"Get out!" she nearly screeches. "Which one? Oh,   
wait...Diana Lesky, Reynard Muldrake? That's you?!"  
  
I shrug. "Well, Mulder didn't want to talk to the   
man at all, but I was a fan, so...I dunno. I didn't   
think I'd get named, or even pseudo-named. At least   
_From Outer Space_ attempts to get as close to the   
truth about the Klass County abductions as possible.   
And I wasn't misquoted or anything."  
  
She looks at me curiously, and I realize my level   
of sarcasm was way up on that last sentence. Goddamn   
Wayne Federman! I'll explain that to her when the   
movie comes out.  
  
Ronnie furrows her brow. "So, does he want you to   
help him with a new book?"  
  
"I don't know; he didn't say." I wrack my brain,   
trying to think of any cases in the last year that   
are worth writing a book about. Nothing's coming   
up. "Do you object if he asks about a case we   
worked on?"  
  
Ronnie shakes her head. "He can give me a call if   
he needs to. I'm happy to oblige."  
  
I nod and stand up. "Well, I'm gonna get going.   
I'm meeting him at a cafe near my apartment, so   
if it runs late I can get home quick."  
  
She helps me gather my stuff. We've only been   
working together since July, but I'm already   
pretty sure everything will work out okay. I had   
been surprised when Skinner brought her down the   
first day; I felt like a teacher getting a new   
student.  
  
Ronnie Durant is only an inch taller than me, so   
I don't think of her as "tall" really. But she is   
a brunette. I momentarily feared that she would   
end up being another Diana Fowley -- another of   
Mulder's mysterious ex-chickadees. The Gunmen   
assured me, however, that they'd never heard of   
her, and she's too young to have been at the Academy   
with him. I don't exactly trust her yet -- it's not   
immediate like it was with Mulder -- but I don't   
feel threatened. I just hope she doesn't think   
this assignment is permanent. Mulder is coming back.  
  
^*^  
  
11:58 a.m.  
  
I sip my milk and keep an eye on the door. I'm   
shocked at how fast I got here. Traffic was almost   
non-existent.  
  
For a moment I wonder if he'll recognize me. I've   
changed a bit since our last meeting: my hair's   
shorter and the color's a bit more enhanced (not   
that Mulder can tell the difference); and of course,   
I've got my beloved paunch. He kicks right on cue,   
and I look down and smile.  
  
Hearing the tinkle of the bells over the door, I   
raise my eyes to see Mr. Jose Chung enter, notebook   
in hand. I wave to him; he sees me and hurries   
over.  
  
"Hello, Agent Scully," he says, his voice as   
cheerful and charming as I remember. I stand up   
to shake his hand, but he stops short, no doubt   
surprised by what he sees. "Agent Scully!" His   
smile is wide, broadcasting his surprise and   
pleasure. "Congratulations! Do you know what it   
is?"  
  
I grin wryly. "Human," I say matter-of-factly. He   
laughs hesitantly; that's not what he meant, but   
he knows why I might have misunderstood him. "A   
boy," I assure him, and he looks relieved.  
  
"That's wonderful. I wish you the best."  
  
I thank him sincerely, and he suggests that we sit   
down. A waiter stops by and takes his order for a   
decaf black coffee, and then we get to business.  
  
"Psychic ability, Agent Scully. The 'non-fiction   
science fiction' genre is in huge demand, and I've   
decided to write about people who can read minds.   
Do you have any experience with that?"  
  
I briefly think of Mulder's ordeal last year, but   
I dare not mention it. Chung will want to talk to   
Mulder, and I don't feel like explaining his   
whereabouts.  
  
"Well, there was a case about two years ago. A   
little boy how displayed such extreme abilities   
that even I'm forced to admit that he's special."  
  
I launch into a slightly watered-down version of   
the Gibson Praise case. I explain that he's dis-  
appeared, but I don't say why. Chung theorizes   
that it was done to protect some government secrets.   
I tell him to run with it.  
  
Once he gets his information, I share some other   
select cases with him. He loves the one about Jen   
the Jinniyah. I briefly wonder what he would wish   
for. A Pulitzer, perhaps?  
  
It gets late and he has another appointment, so we   
say goodbye; I promise to let him know if anything   
interesting comes up. After he leaves, I decide   
just to go home and take a bath.  
  
^*^  
  
September 18, 2000  
3:46 p.m.  
  
I can't remember the last time I was this mad. I   
spent two hours over that body last Friday, and   
it's getting damn hard to do that. Autopsies and   
pregnancy don't really mix. Luckily, formaldehyde   
doesn't trigger morning sickness for me.  
  
But now, as I look over the transcript I had an   
intern type up, I realize that all of my significant   
findings have been omitted. Like the part where I   
say, "Cause of death is officially cardiac arrest,   
induced by over-exertion." Or something to that   
extent.  
  
The woman died after having, according to her   
husband, ten above-average orgasms in a fifteen-  
minute period. Poor guy -- if she'd lived he'd   
be the biggest stud ever.  
  
I'm grumbling quietly to myself, trying to remain   
calm for the baby's sake, when the phone interrupts   
a string of curses that even my sailor father and   
brother would be shocked by.  
  
"Scully," I growl into the receiver. Ronnie looks   
up from her work, surprised to hear me answer so   
rudely.  
  
"Oh, you must have that Caller ID," quips a vaguely   
familiar voice that's full of sarcasm and a British   
accent.  
  
"Forgive me; I hate interns," I apologize, stalling   
for time so I can figure out who I'm talking to.   
"And no, we don't have Caller ID, so may I ask..."  
  
"Your friend from the Yard, Agent Scully!"  
  
I feel my lip curl in disgust. "Ah, Inspector   
Phoebe Green. I knew I recognized your voice. How   
are you?" I ask, straining to sound cheerful and   
tolerant.  
  
"I'm actually in a bit of a quandary," she admits,   
and I suddenly wonder if she's looking for Mulder's   
help.  
  
"Um, how can I help you, Inspector Green?"  
  
There's a moment of silence, then: "I've heard   
about Mulder's mysterious disappearance, Agent   
Scully. I do hope that you get some good leads   
soon."  
  
Her voice sounds sincere enough, so I mumble a   
thank you, then prompt her again about her reason   
for calling.  
  
"Well, there's been a recent string of murders   
over here. We think it might be serial, but so far   
we've only found one connection between the four   
victims. They had all, at one time in the past year,   
taken in a young boy for a few months. Rather like   
a foster child, I'd say."  
  
I nod, but I don't understand why she called me.   
"I'm sorry, Inspector, but I don't really understand   
how I can help. Mulder is the profiler, as you   
well know. I have to experience with that sort of   
thing."  
  
"Actually, I'm not calling about a profile. You   
see, this boy -- Gregory Prescott? -- he claims   
to know you and Mulder, and he's begging to see   
you."  
  
I start to deny her suggestion, say that I've   
never met a Gregory Prescott, when it occurs to   
me that that may not be his real name. GP? "Um,   
could you describe the boy for me?"  
  
"Sure. Hang on." There's a sound of papers shuffling,   
and then she gets back on the line. "He's fourteen,   
Caucasian, brown hair in a kind of buzz cut, blue   
eyes. He wears glasses."  
  
I stare at my computer screen, not really seeing   
much except my reflection, which shows my jaw dropped   
in shock. "Phoebe," I gasp, using her first name to   
show how important this question is, "are there any   
identifying marks on him? Like scars or something?"   
I don't want to lead her in her answer.  
  
"Hold on...yes. He's got some rather nasty scars   
on his head in a 'v' shape."  
  
"Gibson," I whisper.  
  
^*^  
  
September 19, 2000  
12:29 p.m.  
  
I hate airlines. I don't understand how hard it   
is to arrive on time at a destination. I mean, if   
it always takes longer than you think, why not just   
set a later arrival time?  
  
Use logic? Nah.  
  
I glance at the screens again, and to my extreme   
annoyance, it announces that British Airways Flight   
294 from London is now running forty minutes behind   
schedule.  
  
"Of all the..." I mutter. I really, really want   
the plane to get here.  
  
After speaking to the mysterious boy in question,   
I am convinced that he is Gibson Praise. The problem   
is that he has no memory of his life until a year   
ago. Except for two names: mine and Mulder's. He's   
not even able to read minds anymore.  
  
I want to find out what they did to him. But at   
the same time I'm afraid to -- I'm afraid to think   
that Mulder might end up the same.  
  
I try to avoid looking at the arrival screen, but   
I fail. Much to my surprise, the flight is now only   
twenty-five minutes behind schedule. That means it   
should be arriving any minute.  
  
Phoebe was a bit wary to fly Gibson here at first,   
thinking that flight might be a bit traumatic for   
him. However, I assured her that I was in no   
condition to fly (though I didn't say why -- won't   
she be surprised!).  
  
A half-hour later, I spy the tall British Inspector   
striding out of the corridor. A boy trails after   
her; he's not as tall as she is, but he's definitely   
taller than he was when I last saw him. But it is   
Gibson. Of that I am certain.  
  
"Phoebe!" I call out, waving my hand in the air.   
She sees me and turns, propelling herself and   
Gibson my way.  
  
His eyes seem suspicious of everything around   
him; they flick around the terminal, not settling   
on anyone or anything. Until they land on me.  
  
"Dana!" he shouts. "I remember you. And Fox and   
Diana. Where are they?" As he says this, he   
reaches my side and takes my hand. His eyes haven't   
left mine.  
  
I realize that the airport is no place for this   
conversation. I look up to catch Phoebe's eye, and   
I feel a bit smug as I take in her shocked   
expression. There's only one thing to say.  
  
"Told you I couldn't fly."  
  
^*^  
  
2:01 p.m.  
  
Once we're back in the office, and I've introduced   
Ronnie to my two companions, I explain to both   
Phoebe and Gibson what's happened to Mulder. I   
briefly mention Diana's demise, but neither   
really cares.  
  
"So, Fox was taken by the Bounty Hunter? Well,   
then it should be okay."  
  
I look at him, curiosity in my eyes. "What do you   
mean?"  
  
He nods. "I remember him. The Bounty Hunter, I   
mean. He's only looking for help."  
  
"Help." I don't mean to sound so skeptical, but   
old habits die hard, I guess.  
  
"Yes. The Project has failed, as I'm sure you   
know." I do, but I didn't think he did. "So, he's   
looking for another place to colonize. They've   
given up hope for us."  
  
"Gibson?" I quietly interrupt, "I thought you   
couldn't remember any of this. Or read minds   
anymore."  
  
He just shrugs. "I guess it's all coming back to   
me. But I know everything's going to be okay. Fox   
is just helping. So are the rest of them."  
  
I'm not sure whether or not he really knows what's   
going on. While I've always been sure of Mulder's   
fate -- he'll come back, he'll come back -- I've   
never tried to think about what kind of condition   
he might return in. He could be comatose like me,   
or perhaps not even with a scratch. But I don't   
think about that.  
  
"Gibson, I'm going to call your parents."  
  
I do get a hold of Mr. and Mrs. Praise, finally;   
Gibson returns to his home in the Philippines two   
days later, leaving me with these parting words:  
  
"It's just a beginning, Dana. Just a beginning."  
  
^*^*^  
IV - May 22  
[[May 22, a date with several ramifications.]]  
  
May 22, 2001  
5:48 a.m.  
  
I wake up like I have for the past five months.   
As I check my watch, I realize it's five months   
to the day. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.  
  
And with this same realization, I know it's also   
been one year to the day. One year since he went   
missing.  
  
His cries pull me to my feet, and I walk to the   
bassinet at the foot of the bed. Despite the   
sadness I feel, I manage to put a smile on my face   
for him to see when he finally opens his eyes. His   
cries slow to a halt as he realizes that food has   
arrived. I pick him up and carry him back into bed.   
As I rest against the headboard, I open the front   
of my pajamas, and he latches on to my breast   
eagerly.  
  
"You're a hungry little man, aren't you?" I coo.   
This last year could have easily been a living   
hell, but my son has been my saving grace. He's   
forced me to stay focused and grounded. If I hadn't   
been obsessive over keeping my health up for him,   
I know I would have nearly withered away like I   
did when I had cancer.  
  
I stroke the fluffy blonde hair on his head. I   
have no idea where the blonde came from, and I   
can only guess it will darken with age, or maybe   
even get red highlights. He looks up at me with   
big eyes that have definitely lost their initial   
blue; now they shine with his father's murky hazel.   
If it weren't for the eyes, no one could tell who   
his father is.  
  
And I do mean 'is.' Mulder is still alive out   
there, I know it. I can feel it deep in my heart,   
and I know that if he were dead, I'd know that,   
too.  
  
My baby makes his noises, and I know that he would   
know if his father were never coming back, as well.  
  
I start humming a song. I have no idea what song   
it is, but I've been humming it to him since he   
was born. I don't even think I know the whole thing,   
but I keep repeating the parts I do know. I do this   
for the next ten minutes, until I feel drained. I   
pull him up to my shoulder, and after a few moments   
of rubbing he lets loose a burp that would make   
his father insanely proud.  
  
"Nice one, Adam," I say, holding him up in the   
air. He loks down at me with an adorable baby   
smile, the one that never fails to remind me of   
Mulder. "You're getting pretty big, my boy. Five   
months old. You'll be shutting Dad and me away in   
a home before we know it!" Adam just gurgles in   
response.  
  
I've been talking about his father to him since   
day one. I pinned a picture of Mulder inside the   
bassinet so Adam will know his face when he comes   
home. So, in case it's years before that happens,   
Adam won't be completely in the dark.  
  
I carefully get out of bed and walk into the   
kitchen. I place Adam in his highchair so I can   
get our breakfasts: Gerber for him, Eggo for me.   
I usually grab a donut at the office. There's a   
knock at the door; I notice the clock on the   
microwave reads 6:02, and I call out an "It's open!"   
to the person standing outside the apartment.  
  
A few seconds later, I hear my mother call out   
"Good morning!" and I smile around my mouthful of   
waffle while feeding Adam another spoonful of his   
breakfast.  
  
"Morning, Mom," I say after swallowing. "I'm coming   
home a bit early today."  
  
She smiles sadly. "Okay, sweetie." I sigh in relief.   
She knows what day today is all on her own. I don't   
need to say it. "How's my handsome grandson today?"   
she asks in her grandmother voice. She walks over   
to him and drops a kiss on his blonde head.  
  
"You want to finish up, Mom?" I ask, knowing what   
her answer will be.  
  
"Oh, sure. You go get ready for work, Dana." She   
quickly takes my seat after I stand and proceeds   
to continue feeding him.  
  
As I go back into the bedroom to change, I can't   
help but feel a sense of serenity fall over me.   
I'm surprised by this feeling; I haven't felt so   
at ease since...wow, since the night Mulder made   
me watch "Caddyshack". Suddenly, everything feels   
right again.  
  
From the kitchen I hear my mother giggle with   
Adam, and I suppose that's why everything feels   
good.  
  
^*^*^  
  
2:22 p.m.  
  
"Dana, I've got the results of that autopsy, if   
you'd like to go over them."  
  
I look up at the woman who's just walked into the   
office. Special Agent Veronica Durant, my temporary   
partner since last July. At first I was unsure   
about allowing anyone else to claim to be my partner,   
but Ronnie's been very understanding. She's been   
with the Bureau for four years now, and never once   
since joining me has she suggested that this is   
her last position. In fact, she often talks about   
other field offices she'd like to work in when   
Mulder comes back. She took Skinner's account of   
events seriously, and she knows about my abductions;   
she truly believes that he'll be back someday.  
  
"Thanks, Ronnie. I think I many just take these   
home, if you don't mind me busting out early?" I   
take the packet from her hands.  
  
Ronnie grins at me. "Adam's five months today,   
isn't he?" I nod, pleased that she would know that   
reason for the date's significance. "I don't think   
there's anything to do here that can't be done at   
home. I'll hold down the fort."  
  
I smile gratefully. "Thanks, Ronnie. I owe you   
one." I say this as I stand up and start packing   
my briefcase.  
  
"No you don't Dana," Ronnie grins, "but I'll hold   
you to that, anyway."  
  
Chuckling, I leave the office. The same feeling   
of serenity falls over me again. I shake my head,   
trying not to read too much into it. As I close   
the door, I look at the nameplates that have   
recently been screwed into place.  
  
'Special Agent Fox Mulder' the top one reads.  
  
Below it: 'Special Agent Dana Scully'.  
  
And below that: 'Special Agent Veronica Durant'.  
  
I remember Skinner's surprise two months ago when   
I requested that Ronnie get her name on the door   
as well. I told him that I didn't want Ronnie to   
feel like an unwanted child; she'd been a great   
asset, I admitted. In fact, I've recently begun   
thinking about letting her stay on when Mulder   
returns.  
  
I may suggest that she take my place.  
  
^*^*^  
  
3:12 p.m.  
  
I suddenly realize that I should be home by now.   
And as I look around while I sit at a red light,   
I discover that I'm nowhere near home. I recognize   
the area, though. I'm on my way to Dulles.  
  
I pick up my cell phone, even though I have avoided   
using it while driving since I almost got run over   
by that semi-truck. But my fingers find the buttons   
to call Skinner's office.  
  
"AD Skinner's office," Kimberly parrots.  
  
"Kim, it's Agent Scully. Can I speak to him?" I   
have no idea why I need to talk to Skinner.  
  
"Sure, one sec." There's a pause, and then I hear   
Skinner's concerned greeting.  
  
"Sir, I wish I knew why I'm calling you. I...well,   
I've left for the day, and I intended to go straight   
home, but right now I'm heading for Dulles, and I   
don't know why."  
  
He's silent for a moment. "Okay, Scully. Let me   
do some checking, and I'll call you back if I find   
anything worthwhile." Without saying goodbye, he   
hangs up.  
  
I continue driving. There's no word from Skinner   
until I turn into the short-term parking lot at   
the airport.  
  
"Scully, go to Gate 8A. There's a flight coming   
in from Chicago, which was a layover stop from   
Portland. I haven't gotten a passenger list from   
the Portland airport, but it's possible..."  
  
I suck in a breath. "I'm afraid to hope, sir," I   
confess. "I want to believe, but I'm afraid."  
  
"That's perfectly understandable, Scully. But,   
like I said, Gate 8A. Flight 384 is due at 4:05.   
That gives you a bit of time to prepare yourself.   
For either scenario. Do you want me to come out   
there?"  
  
I shake my head vehemently. "No, sir. I'll call   
you if I need you, but I...I have a feeling about   
this. I've had this feeling all day. I think   
everything's going to end up okay."  
  
Something tells me to get inside, so I mutter a   
quick goodbye and shut off my phone. Then I get   
out of the car and start walking toward Gate 8A.   
I flash my badge to the security guard at the   
metal detectors, assuring him that my gun and I   
won't be getting on a plane.  
  
The flight screens tell me that Flight 384 from   
Chicago is indeed due at Gate 8A at 4:05, and it's   
on time. I follow the signs to the appropriate   
wing of the building and arrive at the gate with   
ten minutes to spare.  
  
I can't sit still, so I pace back and forth in   
front of the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. I'm   
careful to avoid looking at my watch or the clock   
on the wall, but I guess it's about six minutes   
later when I see a plane appear over the horizon.   
While I've seen other planes come in, this one   
gets my attention. The serene feeling deepens,   
and I suddenly know that he's on that plane.  
  
Mulder's back.  
  
^*^*^  
  
4:17 p.m.  
  
Finally, finally, the gate doors open and passengers   
begin filing out. I strain to see over the sudden   
wave of people who have stepped between me and the   
door. Move, I think to myself, move damnit!  
  
And then, he's there. His head bobs lightly with   
his familiar gait, and his eyes seem to be searching   
for something. For someone?  
  
I start walking toward him, and he turns away from   
me, still looking. I begin running, and I hear my   
voice calling out his name. He spins around, his   
eyes wide with surprise, and then our eyes lock.   
His face splits into an enormous smile, and he   
starts running towards me with, I'm sure, the same   
desperation that I'm feeling.  
  
The moment is a complete cliche, the two of us   
running into each other's arms, but there's no   
other way for us to reunite. And suddenly, I'm in   
his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, our   
mouths joined in an intense kiss as he spins us   
around. I bring my hands up to feel his face, to   
feel that he's real, that he's really here. I can   
sense the other travelers watching us with curiosity,   
no doubt wondering how long we'd been separated.  
  
He pulls away first, and I gratefully take in a   
lung-full of fresh oxygen. I lean my forehead   
against his and look into his eyes. Tears are   
leaking out of them, and I realize that I've been   
crying as well.  
  
"You're back. I knew you'd come back, Mulder, I   
knew it. I always knew it." My voice trembles   
with emotion.  
  
"Oh, Scully," he sobs, "I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.   
I never meant to...I had no idea...can you ever   
forgive me? Please, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean   
to ditch you."  
  
My heart breaks hearing his desperate apologies.   
"Of course, Mulder, of course I forgive you. I   
know it wasn't your fault." I kiss him again, to   
convince him that I feel no malice towards him.   
"Everything's fine now. It's all going to be okay."  
  
This time he kisses me, and I know he's relieved   
that I don't hate him. As if I ever could.  
  
"Scully," he asks tentatively, "how did you know   
I'd be on this flight?"  
  
"Gut feeling," I confess. "An instinct I didn't   
even know I had. I was driving home and next thing   
I knew, I was here. I called Skinner, and he told   
me about the flight. I've been feeling...I don't   
know, content all day long. As soon as I saw your   
plane, I just knew. I can't explain it; I just knew."  
  
He smiles brightly. "So, my skeptic's open to   
extreme possibilities now?"  
  
I smile back. Oh, he has NO idea...  
  
"You might say that, Mulder. Let's go home, okay?   
There's an extreme possibility you need to see."  
  
^*^*^  
  
4:30 p.m.  
  
I'm driving one-handed, which is dangerous, I know,   
but there's no way I'm letting go of his hand. It's   
like if I stop touching him, he'll disappear. And I   
can't risk losing him.  
  
We slow to a halt at a red light, and I turn to   
meet his gaze. He's been staring at me since we   
got in the car. By the look on his face, I can   
tell that he thinks something is different about   
me. I start talking before he can start questioning   
me.  
  
"So, why didn't you call before the flight? Or at   
the layover?" I keep my voice light so he won't   
think I'm reprimanding him.  
  
He looks away. "Green," he observes, motioning to   
the streetlight. I focus back on the road and   
continue driving toward Alexandria. "I didn't get   
on the plane at the airport," he finally says.   
"Remember when Max Fenig disappeared from a plane?   
I was put on the plane."  
  
I just nod. There's nothing for me to say to that.   
I believe him, and I think he knows that.   
  
"That's why it was so surprising to see you. When   
I found out where the plane was going, I started   
imagining that you would meet me. And when I got   
off the plane, I got this weird feeling. Next think   
I knew, you were calling my name." He squeezes my   
hand, and I return the gesture.  
  
"What do you remember?" I ask. Hopefully he'll   
tell me enough to last the rest of the ride.  
  
"Not all that much," he admits. "They didn't do   
physical test on us; mostly they studied our brains.   
We could read each other's minds, Scully. It was   
like last fall...or, two falls ago, I guess."  
  
"Can you still read minds?" I ask, a bit worried   
that he already knows everything.  
  
"No, not since I left the ship." He lapses into   
silence, which is probably best right now. We keep   
driving for another ten minutes, when I suddenly   
remember Skinner.  
  
Reluctantly, I pull my hand from his and I grab   
my phone. I hit 'REDIAL' and I quickly tell Kim   
to patch me through.  
  
"Agent Scully?" His voice is tense; he's been   
hoping for the best but fearing the worst.  
  
"Sir, I think you should meet me at home. You'll   
probably beat me, but just let Mom think it's a   
normal visit."  
  
He takes in a deep breath. "Okay Scully. Should   
I have Agent Durant come as well?"  
  
"No," I say immediately. I don't want to share   
this reunion with her yet. I'll tell her tomorrow.  
  
"Fine. I'll meet you there."  
  
I hang up. Mulder's staring at me again. I smile   
enigmatically. No doubt there are a zillion   
scenarios running through his head right now,   
but I'm sure he's far from the truth...  
  
^*^*^  
  
5:03 p.m.  
  
He's surprised as we drive into his neighborhood.   
"I thought..."  
  
I shake my head. "My apartment's lease ran out last   
October. I'd barely been there since...well, since..."  
  
He nods and smiles, knowing the night I'm talking   
about. The night after Daniel, after he returned   
from England. The night we first made love. The   
night Adam was conceived. Of course, he doesn't   
know that last part yet.  
  
"Anyway, I let the lease run out. I brought a few   
things over to make it a bit more 'me,' but the   
rest is in storage." I don't mention the fact that   
we'll need a bigger place really soon. Adam's really   
getting too big for the bassinet, but there's no   
room for a crib.  
  
I see his block coming up. Good ol' Hegal Place.   
Skinner's car is indeed already there, parked next   
to Mom's. I pull into my usual spot, which happens   
to be the spot Mulder always used. We get out of   
the car, and I grab my briefcase. This feels   
familiar, I think to myself. We've made this trek   
many times during our partnership. But I've never   
been as eager to get inside as I am today.  
  
Before I know it, we're standing outside Apartment   
42. I can hear soft murmurs; Mom and Skinner must   
be talking. I think of Adam, who's probably swinging   
away as he waits for his dinner. My beautiful,   
blonde baby boy...  
  
Oh crap! I suddenly realize that Mulder seems   
relatively the same, which means his tendency for   
self-doubt is more than likely still in tact. He's   
going to see a blonde boy and assume all the wrong   
things. Damage control.  
  
"Mulder, before we go in there, I want to remind   
you how much I love you. You know that I'll always   
be faithful to you, don't you? I'd never--"  
  
He places his index finger on my lips. "Shhh. I   
know, Scully. I always knew. I never even thought   
that you'd be unfaithful."  
  
I smile and kiss his finger. I'm sure I've confused   
him beyond belief, but he should understand in a   
minute...  
  
^*^*^  
  
5:18 p.m.  
  
I open the door and step inside; I feel him fall   
into place behind me, and his hand rests naturally   
in its spot at the small of my back. I suddenly   
realize how much I've missed that simple touch,   
and I almost wish I had Mom take Adam to her house   
so we could be alone for a bit...  
  
No, we have all the time in the world now. My son   
needs to meet his father.  
  
"Mom?" I call out. "Can you give me a hand out   
here?" I hope she comes out alone; she does, and   
her eyes widen when she sees who's standing behind   
me.  
  
"Oh my God," she whispers. "Fox? Is it really you?"  
  
He steps away from me and moves to embrace her.   
"It's me, Maggie. I'm home."  
  
Mom hugs him fiercely, and I can hear her sobs of   
joy. "Oh Fox, oh Fox! I'm so happy to see you!   
Dana told me you'd be all right, and I wanted her   
to be right, I did! But, I also knew..." Her sobs   
deepen with her admission that she didn't have   
complete faith in him.  
  
"It's okay, Maggie. I'm so sorry this all happened."  
  
"Mulder..." I warn. I don't want him to start on   
a guilt trip right now. He backs away from Mom   
and steps to my side.  
  
"Walter's in the kitchen with..." Thankfully she   
shuts up when she sees my glare.  
  
"Let me give him a hand," I say slowly. As I step   
away from Mulder's side, I give his arm a reassuring   
squeeze. "I'll be right back, Mulder." I walk into   
the kitchen; sure enough, there's AD Skinner holding   
my baby on his knee. As always, I mentally cut-  
and-paste so I see Mulder doing the same thing.   
I smile widely with the knowledge that I can see   
it for real now.  
  
Skinner looks up at me with hope. "Is it...?"  
  
I nod. "Yes, it's him. Apparently he was deposited   
on the plane somewhere between Chicago and here."  
  
Skinner nods, much like I did when Mulder told me   
the same information. "Is he okay? I mean, were   
there tests or...?"  
  
"He seems fine, physically. He says they were only   
interested in his unusual mental capabilities."   
Adam begins to babble in his happy baby talk, and   
I pick him up to say hello. "Why don't you go out   
there, sir? I've got a phone call to make, then   
I'll be out with Adam." Skinner nods and stands   
to leave the room. "Oh, sir? He doesn't know about   
Adam yet."  
  
With a nod, Skinner leaves. I listen to the warm   
welcome Skinner gives him, and I suspect a few   
more tears are shed. For a moment, I wish Skinner   
had been with me at the airport; he felt so much   
guilt for 'losing' Mulder, he really should have   
been able to 'find' him, too. Oh well.  
  
With Adam gnawing on a teething ring, whose purpose   
right now is simply to keep the kid quiet, I call   
the Gunmen. I don't tell them what the big deal is,   
just that I need them here, now. I hate making them   
worry, but I think they'll forgive me.  
  
And now it's time. I can't stall any longer. As I   
gently take the ring from Adam, I call out, "Hey   
Mulder, remember that extreme possibility I said   
you had to see?"  
  
He responds with a wary, "Yeah?" and I step out   
into the dining room/foyer where he and Mom and   
Skinner are still standing. Mom's trying desperately   
to hide a grin, and Skinner seems to be doing   
the same.  
  
Mulder's face, however, is priceless.  
  
I can identify about four emotions that he shows:   
shock, confusion, sadness, and finally joy. Oh man,   
is there joy.  
  
We meet each other halfway across the small room.   
His eyes study the baby in my arms carefully for   
a good minute. I can see Mom and Skinner go into   
the living room out of the corner of my eye.  
  
Then Mulder's eyes meet mine. His gaze is questioning,   
not because he doubts what I assured him of earlier,   
but because he doesn't understand.  
  
"Mulder, this is Adam," I explain. "Your son.   
Our son."  
  
He doesn't react, and I first think he didn't   
hear me, but then I realize he knew it the moment   
he laid his eyes on Adam. Father's instinct.  
  
"Adam," he repeats. "The first man from a barren   
Earth. Perfect." His lips stretch into a smile,   
one so beautiful that it's contagious; I smile   
back, and when I look at my boy, he's smiling as   
well.  
  
"You want to hold him?" Silly question, I know,   
but it has to be asked.  
  
"Sure," he answers, and I hear a small waver of   
that dammed self-doubt. I don't say a word, though,   
as I pass the baby into his large, secure hands.   
I know all about Mulder's hands, and if there's   
one person who couldn't drop a baby if he tried,   
it's Mulder.  
  
"How old is he?" Mulder asks as he gently cradles   
our son.  
  
"Five months today." I wrap my arms around his   
waist; it feels so good to touch him again.  
  
I can tell he's calculating all sorts of dates.   
"December 22?" I nod. "He's gonna be spoiled with   
presents, 'cause I'm not going to diffuse the   
significance of either day by celebrating them   
together."  
  
I smile. "Well, I was thinking that his birthday   
parties with his friends could be over the summer.   
That way he can make use of the pool out back."  
  
"Pool?" His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.   
"They put a pool in while I was gone?"  
  
I shook my head. "Mulder, count the number of   
people that live here. Then count the number of   
bedrooms. Do you sense a problem?"  
  
"Oh," he said, obviously disappointed. I close my   
eyes as I smack myself mentally. He just got home   
after a year of being...somewhere unknown, and I   
immediately tell him we've got to move. Real smooth,   
Dana.  
  
"Don't worry about that now. Let's go in the   
living room with the two G's, okay?" I start   
pulling him in that direction.  
  
"Two G's?" He thinks for a minute, then his face   
contorts into one of almost pain. "Oh, please tell   
me it's Grandma and G-man."  
  
I laugh and shake my head. "Nope. Grandma and   
Godfather." He sighs in relief, while I just laugh   
harder.  
  
^*^*^  
  
8:30 p.m.  
  
Usually at this time of night I'm watching   
television or going over a case file or autopsy   
results. But tonight I'm sitting in Mulder's lap   
at the foot of the bed, watching Adam sleep. We've   
been like this for almost an hour now, since we   
put him to bed.  
  
"Scully?" His voice is soft and full of warmth.   
Neither of us has spoken yet, content to just watch.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"When did you find out?"  
  
I know what he's talking about, and I'm surprised   
it never came up over dinner. We talked with Mom,   
Skinner and the Gunmen about all sorts of things:   
how the X-Files were doing, who Ronnie was, what   
Bill's reaction was when I told him who the baby's   
father was, that sort of stuff. But we didn't talk   
about Oregon or his disappearance.  
  
"After you left," I assure him. "I'd fainted while   
going over some medical files, and the guys brought   
me to the hospital. The doctors did a routine blood   
test, and it showed that I was pregnant."  
  
He sighs. "That's what I get for listening to you."   
I snap my head around to look at him. "I mean, at   
the motel, when you told me you weren't feeling   
good, my instinct told me to call a doctor. But   
I listened to you and let you just keep working."   
I open my mouth to object, but he shakes his head.  
  
"Scully, if I'd known...I never would have gone   
back. I'd have sent Krycek and Skinner or something,   
but I wouldn't have left your side. And then I   
wouldn't have missed everything."  
  
This time I have to interrupt. "Mulder," I say   
in my softest demanding voice. "You haven't   
missed everything! Yes, you missed Adam's birth,   
but I was cursing you so much, you should be glad   
you weren't there. I may have shot you again." I   
say this with a smile.   
  
"Adam's only five months old. That's not even half   
a year. I was praying that you'd be back to teach   
him how to be the next Patrick Ewing. I'm so glad   
you're back now, because you haven't missed anything.   
He hasn't even said his first word yet." I place a   
soft kiss on his lips. "And the best part is, when   
Adam grows up, he won't remember you not being here.   
He'll never have to explain to his friends where his   
daddy is."  
  
I can feel his smile. "Well, as the divorce rates   
climb, that won't be such an unusual problem."  
  
I sigh and turn my head to look at the clock.   
"Mulder, it's almost nine. We've both had pretty   
crazy days. Let's get to bed, okay?"  
  
I wait for the perfunctory innuendo, but instead   
he just nods and starts pulling me up toward the   
pillows. He doesn't bother with his clothes, just   
spoons up behind me like he did in Oregon last   
year. Like we did after the few times we made love.   
I'm glad I changed into a T-shirt and sport shorts   
before I nursed Adam, 'cause there's no way I'm   
getting up now.  
  
It's been one year. One year of missing him, but   
trying not to focus on that while I've cared for   
my son. Now that he's back, I'm never letting him   
out of my sight again.  
  
^*^*^  
  
4 out of 5 doctors say expressing your enjoyment of a fanfic   
to its author increases your life expectancy 23-23.8 years.   
The other doctor was killed by Cancerman before we could ask   
him.  
  
jeri, president, xpab: x-philes against bees  
Join by writing to: kill_em_all@thexfiles.com OR  
Visit the xpab site:  
http://www.geocities.com/jeris_basement/xpab.html  
  
And while you're there...  
  
Visit Jeri's Basement:  
http://www.geocities.com/jeris_basement/index.html  
  



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